Louise had taken considerable time to find salmon, Arnie’s favorite. She managed to buy a landlocked species that had been caught in one of the large lakes. It was smaller than the Chinook salmon Arnie raved about from his childhood, but it had the same flavorful deep pink meat.
When Arnie got home, the table was set, and the apartment filled with the warmth and aroma of a good dinner.
Arnie hung his heavy coat in the closet and came into the small kitchen. He leaned against the doorjamb, watching Louise put the final touches on two plates. She looked at him and smiled.
“Wow, salmon,” he said brightly. Then he mouthed, “I’m not mad at you,” silently adding, “anymore.”
She grimaced, and mouthed back, “I know you were angry.”
He slowly nodded.
He walked over and kissed her. He stuck his finger into some of the hot juice from the salmon and quickly pulled it back, reflexively putting it in his mouth.
“Serves you right,” she said. However, there was a bit of an edge to it, not her usual banter about Arnie tasting her cooking before she served it, which was an ongoing but pleasant battle. “It’s what it feels like when you stick your fingers into something that someone should have told you was hot.”
She watched Arnie take that in, aware that the snippy remark about getting fingers burned was motivated by feeling a little stupid.
She finished frying the salmon and when they sat down to eat, she asked, “Did you talk to Hamilton?”
Arnie mouthed, “Careful,” and pointed to where they’d found the bug. “About the orphanage project?” he asked.
“Yes.” Louise was making a face, nodding understanding.
“Yes,” Arnie replied.
There was the usual pause.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Oh, Arnie, my God, what did he say?” Then, she saw that he was grinning. “Damn you, Arnie Koski.”
They both laughed.
“He likes the idea,” Arnie said aloud. He had risen and was walking toward the kitchen counter as he talked. There he found some paper and started writing on it. “He said we need to do everything we can to get Finnish voters favorable to governments favorable to us.” He sat down and showed her the note. We’ll leave it in. Can pass false information.
She mouthed, “No.” Grabbing the pencil and paper, she wrote, We’ll be prisoners in our own house!!! while saying aloud, “Oh, that’s great news.”
Arnie rolled his eyes and wrote, How bad can whispering in bed be?
Louise shook her head but was smiling. “How do you like Finnish salmon?” she asked, while writing down, Is this what you call diplomatic language?
Arnie tucked into the salmon, grunting approval, and said, “It’s really good. Maybe less fat than Chinook, but really tasty.”
And with that conversation began what for Arnie and Louise would be communicating in the equivalent of a second language. Free and easy discourse was the first casualty of the loss of privacy.